


Quite the Cowardly Lion

by BluBerd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluBerd/pseuds/BluBerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You love Remus. As in really really love him. So much you almost (only almost: you're arrogant, not stupid) think you know what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite the Cowardly Lion

You love Remus. As in really really love him. So much you almost (only almost: you're arrogant, not stupid) think you know what that means. You love everything from the admonishing tone he uses when he disapproves of a prank (i.e. every prank,) to the calluses on his fingers from writing (so damn much) with his quills, to his shoulders (sharp enough to cut), to his heart (strong enough to bleed.) You even love the monster inside him and when that realization hit it was just frightening until it really just wasn't anymore. And then it was just the next thing that seemed totally natural like the way you can't quite get used to waking up in the morning and feeling your stomach start floating the first time you look over at him and his sleepy eyes and his hair that never looks messier.

It's not like it's all innocent pining, of course. You've never been that good. That good a person. Not like he has. And that definitely doesn't help with the fantasies—that he's so innocent—just makes them worse. Better?

Worse?

And it makes it so that there's just another level of wow when the sun casts its first bits of glow on Remus (like he's a fucking angel or something) with his sleep-stupid eyes and his sleep-messy hair and you can't help but let your imagination run a bit, replacing them with love-stupid eyes and romp-messy hair. Pretending that the groggy, rough _morning Sirius_ makes him sound lusty and not just sleepy. The differences are negligible, after all.

Another thing that you love about him is that he's far too old for his own good. Or he acts it, anyway. But you see the way he can't concentrate on his books on those hot nights when the patter of rain starts up its tattoo on the roof. You can feel the mantra coming off him in waves- _I'm too dignified. I'm too dignified. I'm too dignified for that sort of thing._ Even more, you love the way he responds when you say _Let's go out and enjoy the rain._ How he barely even puts up a token show of resistance before giving in. How the expression of joy and (somehow) relief bleeds through his face because he just can't hide it. Remus has always been a charmingly terrible liar.

You love the feel of his hand in yours as you pull him down the secret corridors (it's after curfew) to a place where you can be outside. Together. In the rain. And as soon as you get there he runs off on his own. But that's okay. You know he'll be back. And anyway, you can understand that, while this is what he wants, he's too ashamed to be happy in front of people. Even in front of you. So you let him be. Because you _know_ him even as much as you _love_ him.

And when he comes back to you (he always comes back to you), his breath smells like rain and his hair smells like rain and you know he's been dancing (even though you can't imagine it) because of the way that his chest is heaving and the wan light shining faintly through the gaps in the clouds is turning each exhalation silver. And you know that he's been laughing because you can hear the slight catch in his breath over the thousand dull thumps of raindrops landing on the grass. But you can only see the shadows of his face -the way the cheek curves and the jaw cuts off and the nose juts out- and the way the soaked uniform clings to the harsh lines. And in that moment there is nothing in the world that you want more than to just take him.

And you imagine it. All the time. Taking all of his innocence and his age and his jagged, jagged lines and making them into something that he can love, too. Because you know that he doesn't. And that he doesn't need you to. And the fact that that breaks your heart just makes you love him that little bit more.

And you love that you can't bring yourself to kiss him. To make any kind of move. You love that you can love him, and that nothing has to happen. That you can keep this locked away and secret and yours forever.

You love that this never has to change.

You love that you're allowed to be afraid.

Even if you have to hate yourself for it.


End file.
